Again, I have to thank everyone who's been commenting! I really enjoy writing this so it's gratifying to know that people enjoy reading it too!

Chapter 6

The hallway was busy. Good. House wanted to make a quick exit and that meant avoiding everyone he knew. He'd had a lecture from Wilson, an uneven fistfight with Vogler and a meeting of the minds with Cuddy. Yes, it had been quite a full day and it wasn't even noon. And he was supposed to be suspended.

He stepped out of the elevator, popped two vicodin, and hobbled towards the main lobby. He could almost see his car in his mind's eye. A fast drive back to his place and he'd be able to wallow in scotch and morbid music. Except that he had told Cameron that he'd stop by. Well, he'd call and tell her he couldn't make it. Shit. Great way to start the 'normal people' act.

"Hey!"

House heard the familiar voice but didn't slow down.

"House, wait up!"

He kept walking.

"Greg!"

He let out a sigh and stopped, turning around and leaning heavily on his cane. "You called?"

Wilson came to a stop in front of him and looked up at him, his expression a mix of incredulity and scrutiny. Apparently news traveled fast. Well, it had been almost two hours.

"You punched Vogler in the face?" Wilson exclaimed, his face taking on a look of boyish amazement.

"I assure you he had it coming," House replied, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

"Damn! What the hell happened?"

House rolled his eyes and directed Wilson to the corner of the lobby where they wouldn't be quite so visible. "It was a reflex action. Nothing I could do about it. Maybe I could blame a late onset of Tourettes."

"Well he had to have said something to set it off!" Wilson was still filled with a sort of elation, at the fact that his friend had done something he would have loved to do himself.

"Does it really matter?" House snapped, putting an instant damper on Wilson's enthusiasm.

"Sorry… sorry… you're right." Wilson beat a hasty verbal retreat. "It was just a shock to hear Foreman and Chase talking about it."

"Yeah, well, as good as it felt at the moment, I can't say I'm thrilled with myself now."

"Oh c'mon. You'd do it again in a heartbeat. Admit it."

House shrugged. "You're right. I would. But I'd use my cane. My hand's killing me now."

"So, now that you've virtually guaranteed that he'll call for your dismissal, you're heading out?"

A rare grin. "Seemed like the thing to do. I have a bottle of scotch at home with my name on it. You can give my tearful farewells to Foreman and Chase."

"Greg, you don't know for certain…" House shot him a look that said not to patronize him, but Wilson continued anyway. "It takes a unanimous vote." His meaning was clear.

For once, House dropped his façade. "Don't throw your career away, Jim. I'm not worth it."

Wilson wanted to disagree but he decided to change topics instead. "I talked to Dr. Cameron a little while ago."

It was an unexpected shift but House managed to follow along after a brief moment where he lost his equilibrium at the sound of her name. He rolled his eyes, instantly back in character. "Tell me you didn't call her up to giggle and say 'He likes you! He like, like-likes you!'. Planning on carving our names on a table in the lunchroom next? What are you, her best girl-friend now?"

Wilson stifled a chuckle. House's reaction was about what he expected, and just what he'd hoped for. The easy sarcasm was an instant defense mechanism and frankly he didn't want House leaving the hospital on a morbid, serious note.

"No, actually I called her up to see if she needed anything," he let a grin spread slowly across his face before continuing, "but she said you were planning on stopping by."

Damn. "Yeah, well that was pre-Vogler. I think I mentioned the twenty-year old scotch? It and Dr. Cameron are mutually exclusive."

Wilson met his eyes, seriousness returning to his face. "And which do you think will really make you feel better?"

House almost growled his annoyance, but he settled for twisting his face into one of his many irritated expressions, and stalking away towards the exit.

"Say hello for me," Wilson called after him.


Wind rippling around him, scenery a blur, roar of the engine in his ears, the vibrations from the road a hum through his body. He was driving much too fast, but as usual he didn't give a damn. He'd been half-way to his apartment when he'd suddenly pulled a u-turn, flipped off three irate drivers and sped off in the opposite direction. Now he was quickly approaching the convenience store, and he pulled the wheel to the left, almost allowing himself a smile as the car cornered like it was on rails.

Her car was the only one in the parking lot and once again he pulled in next to it, cut the engine, and sat there, clenching the wheel. Was he out of his mind? Of course he was. If he was sane he would be home already with one glass of scotch in his stomach and another in his hand. If he was sane he would not even be thinking of crossing that invisible line into emotional entanglement.

"For Christ's sake, you've already kissed her… twice. The fucking line's been crossed," he muttered to himself as he pulled himself out of the car and headed for the front door.

Great. Stairs. Again. His knee-jerk reaction was to take another couple of pills, but he remembered he'd just taken some at the hospital. Normally that wouldn't have stopped him, but for some reason, this time it did. He didn't want to think about the fact that the reason was probably sitting one flight up. Thinking too hard about that would send him sprint-limping back to the car.

The stairs actually didn't seem quite as bad this time, and he didn't even stop mid-way up. He rapped loudly on the door and listened. He assumed that she was in her bedroom and was surprised when he heard shuffling inside almost immediately. There was the sound of the lock being turned and then the door opened and she was staring up at him looking slightly bewildered yet pleased.

"House… I didn't think you'd be by so early. Okay, I wasn't sure if you'd be by at all," she admitted as she moved out of the way to let him inside.

"Yes, well, you know how it is, things are awfully busy at the hospital when you're not allowed to see patients. Decided I needed a break from all that sitting around twiddling my thumbs."

A little lop-sided grin appeared on her face. "Well I'm glad you came. Do you want to sit?" In spite of their last conversation, or maybe because of it, she really wasn't sure what to expect from him.

"Sure. Sounds good," he answered, and the words brought a sense of déjà vu.

He followed her towards the sofa, watching how carefully she was moving, with almost a slight limp. He hated seeing that and was glad when she sat down.

"I got tired of being in bed," she said by way of explanation when she noticed him looking at her with that slightly disapproving expression on his face. "I swear, the walls were closing in on me."

"Hmm. Hallucinations. Could be sign of an infection."

She released a tiny sigh of exasperation, and then froze when House reached out and touched the back of his hand to her cheek.

"You feel warm," he said. She also felt soft, and delicate and alive but he didn't bother to mention that. "Have you taken all your medication."

"Yes, mom," she said, teasingly.

"What about food? Have you eaten?" Damn. Please say no. He needed something to do. Just sitting there and looking into her eyes while she waited for him to say something meaningful was like a slow torture.

"I had some cereal this morning."

"Well it's after noon now. You should eat lunch. You already look like you've lost ten pounds," he said as he stood up, pretending not to notice the slightly bereft look in her eyes.

"Foreman dropped off a bunch of groceries when he stopped by yesterday," she offered helpfully as she got up to follow him to the kitchen.

He turned and pointed at her with the handle of his cane. "Sit. I don't need you trailing me around." The words came out sounding a lot meaner than they had in his head.

"Sorry," she whispered as she sat back down.

Right. He didn't need anyone trailing him around. Like for instance an obviously over-needy, over-emotional woman. She pinched her lips together, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about the kiss he'd given her the night before. He'd probably said a hundred more sarcastic, more biting, more disparaging things to her since she'd met them, and none of them had been said while on his way to make her lunch. The strong, level-headed part of her brain was trying to push that fact forward, but unfortunately it wasn't having much luck. She was tired, in pain, and the cornucopia of drugs she was taking was playing havoc with her emotions.

A touch on her face and her eyes sprang open. He had her cheek cupped in his hand and was looking at her with a sort of softness in his eyes. She had no idea how he'd made it back across the room without making any noise. "I see the side effects are kicking in."

She just stared at him, feeling sheepish and slightly overwhelmed. "Something like that," she replied.

"S'alright. I haven't had the best day either."

She nodded in understanding and when he moved his hand she reached out and clasped it gently. He winced and she turned it over in her hand and looked at him questioningly.

"Hit a brick wall," he said lightly as he pulled it away. "Now sit tight while I get your lunch."

Leaning back against the cushions she watched him leave the room and head for the kitchen. It felt surreal having him there. Having him do something as normal as make lunch. Normally she was the one telling him to eat and grabbing him something from the cafeteria. This… whatever this turned into… was going to take some getting used to.

The windows were open and a light breeze drifted into the room. Cameron closed her eyes and let it relax her. She had always preferred the spring-time. It came gently, with soft bird songs and the smell of flowers and fresh-cut grass. She breathed in and could just catch a hint of lilac in the air. She concentrated on it because concentrating on House made her nervous. She wanted to be in the kitchen with him, or she wanted him in the living room with her. It just felt strange to have him wandering around her apartment on his own. It made it seem a little bit too much like he belonged there and she was not ready to start thinking that.

The fragrance of lilacs passed and was replaced by something else, something cooking. Cameron opened her eyes and leaned forward. He was cooking? Whatever it was, it smelled good. She heard him coming down the hall and quickly wiped the look of astonishment off her face. Step-thump. Step-thump, and then he was leaning into the room.

"It's almost done. Where are your meds? I know you're supposed to take at least two of them with food."

"What did you do, memorize my chart?"

"What if I did?"

She didn't have an answer for that. "They're all lined up on my nightstand." She said, deciding to answer his first question instead.

He gave a short nod and moved away from the door. Step-thump. Step-thump. A minute later and she heard him coming back. She'd propped her legs up on the sofa to get more comfortable, but she swung them down and looked towards the doorway expectantly.

"I hope you like omelets," he announced as he came into view, carrying a heavily laden tray one-handed. "Not exactly lunch food, but you had a bunch of vegetables in there that were about ready to give up the ghost."

"I love them," Cameron answered, again trying to keep look of surprise hidden. It was obviously a losing battle because House was looking at her with his head cocked to the side and one eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replied, "I just didn't know you cooked."

"Did you think I'd survived all this time on Kraft macaroni and take-out?" He put the tray on the coffee table and handed her a glass of water and an Atlantic City shot glass with three pills rattling around the bottom.

"I guess I never thought about it," she admitted, then tossed the pills to the back of her throat and swallowed them along with the water. She would never understand how House could dry swallow his vicodin. Probably all that practice.

House picked up the tray and put it on her lap. "Eat up. Maybe if you're really appreciative I'll make you dinner some night," he said as he sat down, glad to be off his feet.

It was meant to sound like an afterthought, a throw-away line, like a dozen sly asides he'd sent her way, but this one felt different. His voice went down as he said it and it lacked that suggestive tone he used so often.

"It's wonderful."

"You haven't even tasted it yet."

"I'm hedging my bets."

She was smiling and he felt like doing the same. Damn, she was already getting to him.

"Just shut up and eat."

The smile dimmed to a grin, but her eyes still held that lightness she carried when she was pleased. "What are you going to eat?"

"Not hungry," he replied, leaning forward to grab a dishtowel from the tray.

There was ice wrapped in the towel and he pressed it against his sore knuckles. Cameron cut into her omelet and pretended not to notice.

The amazed look reappeared on Cameron's face as she took her first bite, and then her second. "This really is good!"

"Glad you approve," House said with a smirk.

She ate a few more bites. "Are you going to tell me what really happened to your hand?" she asked, not looking up from her food.

House readjusted the ice and leaned back. "Wasn't planning on it," he said, propping his legs up on the coffee table. Was she one of those women who hated feet on the furniture? Was he turning into one of those men who cared what women like that thought? Damn, this was harder than he remembered. With Stacy it had started with wild, drunken sex after a hospital banquet. It was difficult to feel self-conscious with someone you'd fucked six ways from Sunday. Cameron was definitely nothing like Stacy.

"Okay." She gave a little shrug and went back to her food.

Damn her and that soft-positional bargaining book. He needed to find it and burn it.

"Vogler," he spat out. She was bound to find out sooner or later. Actually, now that he thought about it he was mildly surprised that Wilson hadn't called to tell her.

"Vogler?" She looked up. He had her complete attention now.

"Yes. Vogler. I punched him in the face."

Cameron looked like she was about to launch into a coughing fit and brought the glass of water to her lips.

"You punched Vogler?"

"Yes, I punched him. I punched the chairman of the board. I punched the man who is giving the hospital one-hundred million dollars. I punched my boss," House rolled his eyes as he repeated Cuddy's words. "Well, technically he probably won't be my boss for much longer."

She didn't bother commenting on that last statement. He was probably right, and denying it would just be an insult. "I can't believe you actually hit him. What on earth did he say to you?"

"He thanked me for giving him more ammunition."

Cameron gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, you meant before I hit him!" he said in mock surprise. "Nothing in particular. It just needed to be done."

"Why do I have a feeling it was more than that?"

"Suspicious mind? Maybe I'm rubbing off on you?"

She cocked her head to the side as she smirked. "I don't remember any rubbing taking place."

House stared at her and swallowed hard. "Are the drugs doing your talking again?"

The smirk turned into a small grin. "Possibly."

He pulled his aching leg off the table and stood up. "In that case, maybe I should go take care of the kitchen clean-up."

Cameron raised one eyebrow. "Afraid I'll rub off on you?"

"Possibly," he mimicked her words and left while she was still thinking of a snappy comeback.

Great. From needy and tearful to pushy and forward. That was just perfect. She let her head fall backwards against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling. There was a little water spot above her and she squinted at it, thinking she could see a face. Elvis? No… it looked closer to Vogler.

Damn, she hadn't gotten him to open up about that. Obviously something had been said between them for House to finally haul off and clock him. Well, she wasn't about to ask him again. If he wanted to tell her, he'd tell her. And if he didn't… well, maybe Foreman or Dr. Wilson knew something.

"Taking a little cat-nap?"

His words startled her back to full-awareness and she sat up as he walked over to her. He reached out a hand and felt her forehead.

"You know," she said after he'd assured himself that she wasn't running a fever, "if you really want to touch me, you could just sit down and give me a hug like normal people." She regretted the words almost as soon as they'd crossed her lips and she wanted to pluck them out of the air where they hung between them.

House was silent for a minute, observing her, his thoughts well-hidden behind suddenly expressionless eyes. "I'm not exactly the most normal person you're likely to meet," he said lowly.

"You're wrong about that. I think you're more normal than you want to believe. You're brilliant and sarcastic and defensive, but none of those things changes what you really want."

He leaned forward on his cane and affected a mockingly interested look. "So you know what I want, do you? Aren't you the one who said that I didn't know what you needed, but now you're an expert in what I want?"

"That was different," she replied, wishing that she'd just backpedaled and avoided this conversation.

"Different how?"

"Well we were fighting, for one thing. Now we're just talking."

"So semantics really makes the difference? I'll have to remember that."

She sighed and met his eyes, trying to convey something through them that she wasn't able to through words. "Up on the roof, you were trying to convince me that wanting you in my life was a mistake. Why?"

"I think we've been over this," he scoffed. "The whole miserable bastard bit, and all that."

"Right, but why would that make wanting you a mistake?"

He had started to pace, but he halted his progress half-way across the floor and turned to her. "Because you deserve better. Maybe a nice, young, blond pediatrician with a good bedside manner and a golden retriever named Rascal."

"Now you're the one using semantics. Young, blond dog-owner or blue-eyed, bitter, cane-owner. Either way it's someone to connect with. Someone to hold me and argue with me and make up and start all over again. The only difference is the person I want that with is not blond, and I'm allergic to dogs. That's what makes you normal. Because I don't believe for one second that you don't want that too… no matter how bitter and miserable you are."

He had expected some flowery speech, some declaration of love, some treatise on how they completed each other and were two halves of the same whole. That wasn't what he'd gotten, and he was taken aback.

When he still didn't say anything, she decided to plow forward. "We've already established that we like each other. We've already kissed. Now, could you please come over and sit down so that I can relax instead of feeling like you're about to bolt out the door?"

House's mouth curled into an approximation of a grin as he raised one eyebrow in a sort of salute. "Are you the same woman who looked like I'd just run over her puppy half an hour ago?"

"Apparently I really needed food," she shot back.

He limped slowly over to the sofa and Cameron tried to control the suddenly frantic beating of her heart. Whatever had come over her to allow her to speak her mind fled out the window when he came in such close proximity. He sat down and put his feet back up on the coffee table. When she didn't move, he turned his head to look at her with an expectant and humorous look in his eyes.

"Isn't this the part where you put your head on my shoulder and fall asleep while I whisper sweet nothings into your hair?"

"If you start whispering sweet nothings I'll have to start counting my pills," she replied as she moved closer.

When she was within arm's reach he stretched out his hand and pulled her snug against his side, then draped his arm around her shoulder as she made herself comfortable.

"True enough," he said. "Now where's the remote for the television?"